


You Deserve It

by Qpenguin98



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Codependency, Frisk has some issues, It's five years out of the underground, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Selectively Mute Frisk, Self-Harm, frisk calls tori mom, it's a little fucked up and kinda stolkholm syndrom onn both ends of the stick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-05 22:40:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5392922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qpenguin98/pseuds/Qpenguin98
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You just kind of stare at him, eyes vacant, face blank. This isn’t how this was supposed to go. He was supposed to yell at you for your selfishness, yell at you for going murder crazy, yell at you for putting them in danger. Tell you you deserve it.</p>
<p>Because you do.</p>
<p>You deserve it.</p>
<p>You deserve it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Deserve It

You wake in Sans’s bed, blankets tangled around your midsection. Sans is still asleep, a little ball of bones, and it makes you laugh a bit. You’re still exhausted, over talked from last night’s vent session, and you’d really like to go back to sleep but you have school today, so you can’t. Mom may let you stay home for sickness, but you kept yourself up late, and that’s not a good enough excuse for you or her.

“Hey,” you say quietly, shaking him awake. He sits up with a jolt, and he studies your face for a second before calming down. You know what he expects to see and it bites somewhere deep inside of you, but you pretend not to notice. Instead, you sit up, stretching out your arms,

“I’ve gotta go to school,” you say. “Mom says no sick days for late nights.” You both know she bends that rule occasionally, when your guilt makes it hard for you to function and she can’t stay home with you.

“Education’s important,” he yawns out, garbling the words until you almost can’t understand them. “You gotta get schooled on.”

It’s a bad attempt at a pun, but it’s early morning, so you’ll let it go.

You won’t even bother with trying to find different clothes, you’re still in your jeans and shirt so why bother?

Sans throws you his jacket, knowing you’ll want it today and you send him a nod of thanks. He waves you off and you step down the stairs.

“AH, FRISK.” Papyrus stops you, chef’s hat and apron on. “YOU’RE FINALLY AWAKE. WOULD YOU LIKE SOME BREAKFAST SPAGHETTI? UNDYNE GAVE ME A NEW RECIPE.”

You shake your head. “Gotta get to school. Don’t want to be late, or Mom won’t let me come over as much.

He nods his head in approval. “EDUCATION IS VERY IMPORTANT. I HOPE YOU HAVE A GOOD DAY AT SCHOOL. WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO DRIVE YOU?”

Papyrus’s driving makes you a little queasy even now. “No that’s okay. It’s a quick enough walk and it’s supposed to be nice out today.”

“WELL, HAVE FUN! I HOPE TORIEL HAS PLANNED AN EXCELLENT SCHEDULE FOR TODAY.”

You say goodbye and head out the door. It is nice, and the jacket around your shoulders makes you a little hot, but it’s a comfort item, so you deal.

School passes by in a blur of monster and human history and suddenly you’re back at home and Mom is making cinnamon butterscotch pie and you’re not sure how everything moved that quickly but it feels weird.

She’s using a butter knife to cut the lattice strips and your fingers itch for it, ache to wrap around the handle and hurt and cover your hands in dust and stab your way out of your suffocation.

You snap back to yourself moments later, breathing heavy. “I’m going to my room,” you say quickly and then you rush to your bed, closing the door hard behind you.

In your five years back above the surface, that’s never ever happened.

You’re frightened.

You pull out your phone to text Sans before thinking better of it. If he knew he might tell Mom, and if Mom knew, she might hate you. Sans alone might hate you, for endangering them all again, for succumbing to the murder voice again.

You stay in your room, curled around your phone until Mom calls softly that the pie is ready.

You come out smiling to take her off the idea that anything’s wrong. She asks if you’re feeling okay and you nod, saying it was just a rush to finish a project. She doesn’t question any further, chatting along with you about school today and what she’s got planned for the whole school tomorrow. She’s the principal, fully able to switch up the school at will, and you know it’ll be something good.

You can’t help thinking back to your flashback with the knife and you go to bed with a heavy head.

\---

The urges get worse and you can’t keep all that energy pent up. You refuse to tell Sans, but he knows something’s wrong, knows you’re keeping something from him when you come over and the two of you talk. You spend entirely too much time over there, pouring your feelings out about this or about that, about your nightmares and his and maybe it’s unhealthy, but you couldn’t care less.

It starts with a knife, small and comfortable in your hands as you drag it across you skin. It’s meant to keep the want to hurt your friends and family away, keep it to yourself, retribution for your murders, for your resets.

Eventually, the need to kill your loved ones goes away, and the urge to kill yourself kicks in strong. You hurt and you bleed but it’s your punishment, what you deserve for what you’ve done.

You stray away from the knife, returning it back to Asgore’s gardening supplies when you stay at his home. It reminds you too much of who you were, what you did, who you killed, how many times you reset to get the perfect ending. And maybe you deserve that guilt, but you can’t handle it, not now.

You buy yourself an x-acto knife with no questions from your mother. You scrapbook, take pictures of you and your friends and the beautiful things you saw underground and that you see aboveground. You managed to snap a picture of Asriel at some point, and that’s the picture you visit the most, the pain of not being able to save him adding to your penance.

You keep them hidden under pant legs and shirt sleeves. When the heat gets too much, you slip on Sans’s jacket over a tank top an deal with the heat.

You deserve it.

\---

Your tongue grows heavy in your mouth, making it hard to speak again. You revert back to sign language for most of the time. They’d all picked up a lot, so it wasn’t an inconvenience. They all knew that sometimes talking was too much for you and you just couldn’t, so it’s not a surprise.

But Mom and Sans, they notice, and they know something’s not right. They speak in hushed tones together, and you occasionally hear your name.

Your arms and legs are littered with cuts and scars. One for every murder, two for every reset, three for every accidental death, four for every murder, five for every reset, six for every accidental death.

You go from bad to worse.

You think there’s blood on the inside of all of your clothes and it’s a miracle you do your own laundry.

You can’t speak around Mom, can’t speak around Sans, not one word, and they know that something’s wrong with you.

So when nightmares plague your sleep and you shuffle your way down the ten minute walk to Sans and Papyrus’s house, you know he’ll confront you.

But you thought he’d have at least a little finesse.

“So kiddo,” he says as soon as you sit down on his bed. “What’s up?”

_‘nightmare,’_ you sign. He looks a little sympathetic. But you see concern and worry in his face and wonder exactly how far he’s wanting to push your emotions tonight.

“That’s not all, is it?” and there’s an edge to his voice that you haven’t heard in a long time. You’re not sure why that of all things sets you off, but it does, and your hands start shaking and you can see his eyes focus on that.

You bolt for the door, and the logical part of your brain knows that it’s an accident that he uses his blue magic to stop you, but the main part of your brain panics.

You want to die but not like this, not with him hating you, not with him thinking you’ve gone back to murder timeline, not with him feeling betrayed.

Your body shakes and your eyes water uncontrollably and he realizes what he’s done and lets you go immediately. You curl up around yourself on the floor, knees by your mouth, arms curled around your knees and covering your ears.

You hear Sans shift, and you untense a bit. He moves to sit next to you and you raise your head just little, hands still covering your ears. His arm comes around your shoulder and kinda smushes you against him and it’s

comfortable

“I’m sorry,” is not what you expected from him, but it’s what you hear. “I didn’t mean to do that it just happened I didn’t even realize… Frisk if I did something to make you not trust me I am so so so sorry. I never meant to-”

“You didn’t.” Your voice is gravelly, unused after months of silence.

“You didn’t you didn’t don’t blame yourself it’s not you please it’s not you not you-”

“Frisk. Take a deep breath.” You do. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

He sounds so serious it hurts.

You spit your words out like vomit, explaining everything, the urges, the want to hurt him, Mom, everyone all over again and how you switched it back around onto yourself, got bad, bad, bad, couldn’t stop, can’t stop, bleeding arms legs hips shoulders anywhere you can, have to hurt, have to pay for what you’ve done, what you’ve put them through, put _him_ through. Your hands shake and your mouth gets dry and it’s hard so hard to keep speaking, but you do because you owe him that after all the grief you’ve put him through.

The way his face contorts and droops at your words hurts because maybe he does hate you this time maybe he’ll stop caring maybe he’ll leave you, tell Mom, she’ll leave you, you’ll be all alone.

You think to yourself that maybe it would’ve been better if you had let Asgore kill you for your soul and then everyone could’ve been above the surface so much sooner and Sans wouldn’t have to worry about you resetting or murdering anyone.

The way his mouth drops open lets you know you said that out loud.

Oops

“Frisk what- fuck- no that’s not. You can’t just say that. You can’t. Don’t you get it? We all love you. Do you realize how fucked up everything would be? I don’t care that you got possessed by Tori’s dead demon kid or whatever the hell that was I don’t care about that. I care about the you that made this timeline right, the you that’s alive and didn’t die fifty times because of me, the you that’s right in front of me that saved everyone even after killing them and goddammit Frisk it would not be better if you were dead.”

You just kind of stare at him, eyes vacant, face blank. This isn’t how this was supposed to go. He was supposed to yell at you for your selfishness, yell at you for going murder crazy, yell at you for putting them in danger. Tell you you deserve it.

Because you do.

You deserve it.

You deserve it.

He’s hugging you and you think his shoulders are shaking. “You are worth so much more than this, Frisk,” you hear. “You mean so goddamn much to me and this isn’t what we do kid, this isn’t what we do. We keep each other alive and sane, we don’t let each other get bad, why didn’t you tell me it got this bad? Oh my god I’m not gonna drop you because you’ve got some fucked up kind of PTSD I’m gonna help you jesus you should’ve told me.”

“I’m sorry I’m so so sorry, please I-”

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. Nothing to be scarry for.”

You realize he made a joke. He realizes it to, and he pulls back to apologize, but you laugh. Because it’s funny, and sure it wasn’t the best timing, but you’re both not the best people for this, so you laugh, because it’s time to laugh.

You need to let yourself laugh.

And the tension falls out of the room and he relaxes and you relax and everything feels so much better. You sit together like that for a while, your head on his shoulder, his hands on your back. And it is well into the morning before you move, stiff joints popping.

Mom calls you because she didn’t know where you went and you respond verbally for the first time in months to say that you’re at Sans’s and the two of you will be over for breakfast soon. She’s quiet for a second before saying okay, and you can hear how happy she is when she hangs up.

You look to Sans for approval and he nods, you know he can’t refuse your Mom’s cooking.

The two of you walk over, his jacket on your shoulders, and nothing’s really okay, but it is at the same time and Mom looks so happy when she sees you talking and you eat breakfast together with her and Sans and Papyrus when he shows up and it’s good.

You’re good.

You deserve this.

**Author's Note:**

> so i wrote a weird psuedo fic for this over the course of like two weeks and it never got finished and then i wrote down my whole idea for this in my phone notes and now its 2188 words so i mean there we go  
> go me  
> im frisk sans codependency garbage and its really unhealthy and theyre really unhealhy but yknow im not the best example for healthy relationships so here we go


End file.
